Rohingya turn to faith healers in absence of access to modern medical care

Abul Kalam sits cross-legged on the floor of his tiny mud hut and whispers prayers into a small plastic bottle filled with water, creating what he says is a potion that will cure stomach cramps. 

"I got these powers in my dreams," he says. "People come to me because I heal them." 

Kalam is a boidu, or faith healer, and for decades has been treating fellow Rohingya Muslims, first in Myanmar's northern Rakhine state and now in a squalid camp in Bangladesh, where 700,000 Rohingya took refuge last year after escaping a campaign of government violence at home.

Faith healers have long been sought out in Rohingya society to treat physical and mental ailments, in part due to traditional beliefs. 

They also thrived because the Rohingya have generally lacked access to modern medical care in Buddhist-majority Myanmar, where they are one of the most persecuted minority groups in the world. 

Life before the Myanmar military launched a systematic campaign of torture, killings and rape in 2017 was not easy for the Rohingya. 

After they were stripped of their citizenship in 1982, the Rohingya were either forced to flee or to live in conditions in which even their children were denied the necessary vaccinations.  

In recent years, the Muslim minority group has been isolated to camps within a country they can no longer call their own, cut off from health care for years. Pregnant women heavily rely on the few UN-funded mobile clinics which service several Rohingya villages and camps in Rakhine state.   

Access to medical care has changed for the better in Bangladesh, where thousands of aid workers offer the Rohingya everything from vaccinations to psychological support. Nonetheless, they live exposed to monsoon elements which means their chances of remaining healthy are slim. 

Doctors Without Borders, which runs four inpatient hospitals and a dozen medical centres in the area, says it has provided more than 800,000 outpatient consultations and admitted more than 15,000 patients since August 2017.

But for the Rohingya, it makes sense to keep their faith in the boidu, who for years were the only available source of health care.

Kalam, a 60-year-old who arrived in Bangladesh in 2012 during an earlier exodus of the Rohingya, says he receives more than five clients each day.

"People come to me because they benefit from my power," he says. "That's why they keep coming back."

Anita Saha, a clinical psychologist who has worked in the camps since August 2017, reiterates that the Rohingya refugees' dependence on faith healers stems from a lack of exposure to doctors as well as a suspicion of scientific medicine. 

She says many refugees mistakenly believe they will lose their Islamic faith and be converted to Christianity if they take vaccinations for diseases like cholera and diphtheria. And in the case of mental illness, she says, many believe it is a reflection of evil forces and is best countered by a faith healer invoking prayer. 

"They don't have any doctors to prescribe psychotropic drugs. So, they believe in the boidus to overcome their problem," Saha says. 

However, she says beliefs in the camps are slowly changing.

Ali Nesa has never known what's wrong with her teenage daughter, who spends her days in the refugee camp lying on the floor of her family's thatched hut, unable to talk, walk or eat on her own. 

Nesa says her daughter has been this way since she was three, when she had epileptic fits for nearly two weeks straight. 

"I don't know if her disease is due to an evil spirit or because of difficulty in breathing," Nesa says. "If this is because of an evil spirit, then only a boidu can treat her. If it is a breathing problem, then a doctor may be able to help her." 

Nesa says none of the many boidus she has visited has been able to help her daughter and she is losing her faith in them. She's now interested in seeking medical help.

Climate extremes, harsh land and unsanitary conditions make the camps a breeding ground for disease and mental stress.  

It means there is plenty of work for doctors and plenty of business for faith healers such as Kalam, who says he's doing Allah's bidding and isn't bothered by people who don't believe in his powers.

"I can't be worried by what people have to say," he says. 

Myanmar officials have said they expect the repatriation of the Rohingya to start this week, a move criticised by rights groups who say it is not yet safe for them to return.